Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Florence and Evie stayed behind the wall of honeysuckle for the rest of the evening and into the morning.
They had peeked through the keyhole more than once, but they couldn’t make out much of anything through the vines.
A bruise bloomed on Florence’s shoulder where she’d collided with the wall, and every time she noticed the patch of red on Evie’s scalp, her heart caved, the sadness and anger all too much.
It was the first time Linda Caldwell had ever laid a hand on her daughters.
Yes, there’d been the time with the broken flowerpots.
But that had been Florence’s doing, Florence’s fault in the first place, the sort of discipline good girls needed.
Until tonight, all of her mother’s violence had been secondhand.
Now, they’d crossed some sort of bridge, and Florence didn’t think there was any going back.
She and Evie ate the rest of the candy for dinner, played all the board games Florence kept in her room, and then Florence held her sister until she fell asleep. All the while, Florence kept her attention on the hallway, listening for every creak of a floorboard or opening of a door.
Part of it was fear that after their mother had given up and trudged away, she’d return.
Another part of it was hope her father would wake to get a glass of water or a midnight snack and Florence could tell him everything.
Then she could convince him to get in the car and drive far away so they’d be safe.
By the time morning broke through the curtains, Florence still hadn’t slept. The window opened, but not even the crisp air and golden sunlight streaming through the maple leaves outside were enough to ease her dread.
She released her hold on her sister and slowly slipped out of bed, before pulling on a pair of loose jeans and a flannel. She gently pushed against Evie’s shoulder. Her sister’s eyelids fluttered open, and she stretched her arms above her head.
“Happy birthday!” After a few moments her eyes darkened. She took a sharp breath and glanced at the door. “Mom …?”
Florence shook her head. “She hasn’t come back. Get dressed and wait here.”
Evie scrambled out of bed wearing one of Florence’s T-shirts. She shook her head. “I’m coming with you.”
“You’ll be safer here.” Florence had been wracked with guilt all night that she hadn’t gotten to Evie fast enough, that she hadn’t predicted what her mother was going to do.
That it hadn’t been her hair Linda ripped out by the roots.
She couldn’t let something like that happen again, not today. Not ever.
But Evie wouldn’t hear it as she wriggled back into yesterday’s dungarees. “I’m not staying.”
Florence knew there was no point arguing with her. With a heavy sigh she said, “Let’s find Dad and get out of here.”
“Because of the—”
Florence clapped a hand over Evie’s mouth gently. No time for ringing ears.
“No one is going to die today,” Florence said.
Evie nodded once, determined. Florence took her hand and started for the door.
The vines poked through the gaps around the hinges.
Florence rested one hand on the knob. It warmed beneath her touch, and one of the vines crept across the wood to brush against her knuckles. A honeysuckle flower bloomed.
“I think the house is wishing you a happy birthday,” Evie said.
Florence felt a sad sort of warmth in the center of her chest. She leaned her forehead against the door and tried her hardest not to cry.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
She swiped at her tears, picked the flower, and tucked it behind her ear. “It’s okay,” she said to the house. “You can let us out.”
The vines receded, and a few seconds later, the lock turned. The door opened slowly enough to creak, but it didn’t make a sound. Florence stuck her head out. She peeked down the hallway to find her father making his way toward her, two duffle bags in hand.
“Dad?” Florence whispered.
He held a finger over his lips.
Evie ducked underneath Florence’s arm and ran for him.
She wrapped her arms around him, and he rested a hand on the top of her head.
She winced, retreating from his touch and revealing the dried blood from the night before.
His brow furrowed as he looked up, meeting Florence’s eyes. She gently gripped her own shoulder.
“Did your mother do this?”
She nodded, her tears once again threatening to spill over as her throat constricted and her whole chest went hot.
“She threw Florence against the wall,” Evie said before she buried her face into his side.
“We found out about …” Florence paused. “Today. And her spell to keep it from us.”
Shame flashed across her father’s face, and he pulled Evie closer to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You knew?” Florence asked, the heat growing into something like betrayal. She clenched her hands into fists.
“She thought it would be better for both of you if you didn’t.
The way this town talks … I agreed with her.
At least until you were ready.” He shook his head.
“We can talk about this later. Let’s get to the car.
I wanted to go last night—we’d been talking about it all week—but … ” He looked over his shoulder.
“She stopped you,” Florence said. “Why?”
Robert shook his head. “I don’t know.”
He gestured for her to follow. Florence ran toward him, and together, the three of them made their way to the stairs then down and out the front door. Robert opened the trunk of their hatchback and tossed the bags in. He slammed it shut, turned to his girls, and grabbed them in a hug.
“Let’s go celebrate your birthday,” he said to Florence.
She bit her lip and nodded, unable to speak without crying.
“Is Mommy coming?” Evie asked.
“Not this time, sweetpea,” Robert said as he opened the back door for her.
“My necklaces!” Evie said. Florence had taken them off and put them on the nightstand while Evie was sleeping, afraid they would get tangled up in her hair.
“We can get them tomorrow,” Florence said.
But Evie shook her head. “I need them. The crystal is supposed to protect us.” She started toward the steps, when Florence grabbed her by the hand.
“We can’t go back in there.”
“I can’t go without them!” Evie protested.
“Where are they?” Robert asked.
“On my nightstand,” Florence said, “but—”
“I’ll be quick.” He kissed her on the forehead, then made a run for the house.
Florence stared after him, her stomach twisting as he started up the steps. She held her breath, waiting to see him appear through the window on the second-floor landing. When his face shown through the glass, she exhaled and gripped Evie’s hand tighter. He raised a hand to wave.
“Look, Evie,” Florence said.
Evie glanced up and waved back, but as Robert turned to go down the hall, something in his face changed.
He tipped toward the window, slowly at first, so slowly Florence didn’t realize what was happening until he collided with it.
Wood snapped and glass shattered around him.
He fell through and onto the top of their covered porch.
As his body met shingles, Florence pulled Evie’s face against her, never once taking her own eyes off her father.
He rolled down the roof, turning over and over and over.
Florence wanted to scream for him to stop. To catch himself. To do anything other than fall off the edge. But it was too late. The honeysuckle hung limp. The gutters offered no help as he slipped over the side. He landed in the yard with a thud, his neck bent and his arm pressed behind his back.
Florence stood there, staring at his lifeless form. The world slowed around her.
Evie squirmed free from her arms. “Daddy!” She ran for him. She dropped to her knees beside him and pushed against his shoulder, but he didn’t respond.
Still Florence couldn’t move.
It wasn’t until Evie started to cry that Florence felt her own tears falling, the shock of them enough to propel her forward.
She knew he was gone—the curse had taken him—but she crouched next to her sister.
She pressed her ear to his chest, and when she didn’t hear anything, she pressed fingers against his neck where his pulse should’ve been.
She was met with cold skin and not a single flutter of movement.
She stood.
Then, she ran.
Back to the house, up the porch. The door swung open before she reached it, and she took the steps in twos all the way to the third floor.
She didn’t even hesitate at the door to her parents’ room or at the base of the spiral staircase that led to the one place in the house she was never allowed to go.
When she reached the top of the landing, she found her mother standing at her altar, her back to Florence, two candles burning before her.
Florence’s racing heart slowed. Though tears still fell, every piece of her that felt like it was threatening to burst apart over the past few days stilled, and a sort of numbness settled in.
“You’re too late,” Florence said, voice flat, heartbroken. “That black candle won’t protect anyone. Dad’s gone. You made him sleep so we couldn’t leave and the curse took him and it’s all your fault.”
Linda turned, eyes bright with anger. She crossed the space between them and grabbed Florence by her forearms. “Everything I’ve done has been for you and your sister. Everything!”
When Florence tried to pull back, her heel almost slipped from the top step. Linda’s nails dug into Florence, drawing blood as she stopped her fall.
“Do you think I wanted it to take your father? Do you think I wanted any of this?” She looked down at where her fingernails pierced Florence’s skin.
She gripped tighter, her lips pressed in a thin line.
It wasn’t until Florence cried out that Linda pulled back, eyes wide as if seeing Florence for the first time.
“Oh, baby,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. ”
Then she pulled Florence to her chest and started to cry.